


Bad Blood

by Grim_0606, Kittycrushlove88



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angels, Fallen Angels, Fluff and Smut, Grim Reapers, M/M, Romance, Shameless Smut, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-03-31 17:25:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3986557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grim_0606/pseuds/Grim_0606, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittycrushlove88/pseuds/Kittycrushlove88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world has always been kept in balance by both good and evil. Humans live in a world with angels and demons, constantly being fought over by the two forces. With one death the Balance can be tilted and it's Death's job to make sure that doesn't happen. Death, the Fallen Angel, the Grim Reaper - he isn't a legend, he's real. He's also very sarcastic.<br/>On a rare occasion, Death stumbles across an Impartial, a being which is neither good nor evil but a perfect mix. Their souls are considered rare and, frankly, delicious to Reapers.<br/>In a small, dirty bar hidden in the depths of the city, Death finds an Impartial named Michael.<br/>Unbeknownst to the young boy, he's being followed, hunted down for his soul which can be swayed and taken. In the wrong hands he can tilt the Balance and free evil onto Earth or, should goodness manage to take his soul, then the world would fall into a dystopia.<br/>Will Death's natural instincts consume him and force him to steal what he wants? Or can he save Michael from his cruel fate?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

   Death let out a long exhale and watched the smoke from his cigarette swirl through the hot air of the bar. Gripping his beer bottle by the neck, he took a swig as he listened to the others around him. Smoking and drinking was never a good combination - everyone knew that - but it wasn't like it was going to kill him or anything. He was Death, after all. He was cruel, heartless, immortal, and the million other things people called him.  
   Once he finished off his beer, he waved his leather, finger-less gloved hand to catch the attention of the female bartender. The woman merely nodded her head when he motioned toward his empty bottle. Although he knew the woman couldn't see his face, he had caught her glancing towards him plenty of times. Usually, Death would take it as an invitation to start spilling out some pick up lines, but he wasn't, he didn't feel the drive for some reason. It wasn't that she wasn't hot or anything. She strutted around like she owned the place in impossibly high heels, a micro-mini skirt and a crop top which barely covered her generous chest. Her eyes glittered from behind two pounds of mascara and she worked her walk like her hips were double-jointed. Hell, he was positive she had boatloads of men asking her for some place private to go to together. But Death gave her a pass.  
   He pulled his gaze away from the woman to glance around. Tonic was packed like always with women in leather and men who looked like they had advanced degrees in crime.  
   Death fit right in.  
   Death glanced over his shoulder when he heard the door open, his black hood blocking some of his vision. Just before he turned back around, he gave a double-take at the group. He eyed the four young males curiously as they entered, three of them grinning from ear to ear, while the other crossed his skinny arms self-consciously over his chest. A smirk nestled in the corner of Death's lips at the sight.  
   The three boys who didn't look a day over twenty talked and laughed their way over to a pool table that was surrounded by people, leaving the smallest one behind. The self-conscious boy looked toward his friends then made his way toward the bar. He weaved his way so carefully through the crowd of people as if he were afraid others would touch him. Once he had finally made his way to the wooden bar, he slid into one of the swivel chairs next to Death. His light hair looked like a halo around his young face in the light and his bright blue eyes took in his surroundings carefully.  
   "You look a little too young to be here," Death finally commented, taking a drag from his cigarette.  
   The boy jumped slightly in his chair from the sudden voice next to him. "I'm a lot older than I look..."  
   "Oh yeah?" Death smirked in sheer amusement. He pulled the hood of his black jacket further down around his face to make sure he was covered before playing with the lip of his new bottle of beer. Strange, Death hadn't even heard the bartender place it in front of him.  
   Silence fell between the two. The boy only nodded slightly before ordering a Rum and Coke from the passing bartender. Blondie - that was what Death decided to call him for the time being - turned in his chair to watch his friends with a frown. The look that flashed across his young facial features was nothing but disappointment and a slight hint of longing. Was he some kind of introvert trying to get out more? When the drink was placed in front of him, Blondie turned back around, staring down at his drink in thought.  
   "You don't want to be here, do you?"  
   Blondie shook his head, "I didn't even want to leave my bed."  
   "Yet you're here."  
   "My friends dragged me here. And as you saw, they left me, knowing I have no way to get home."  
   The boy flashed Death a tentative smile before sipping his drink. Death watched the boy as he thought it over. Introverted kid with asshole friends? He had seen it a thousand times before. Clearing his throat, Death shifted in his seat and pushed his cigarette out into the ash tray by his beer.  
   "Get a taxi to take you - problem solved."  
   Blondie paused in the middle of sipping his drink then brought it down to its coaster, his lips pressing into a straight line. "No taxi will ever go near where I live."  
   Death arched an eyebrow under his hood. "Someone's sensitive, huh?"  
   "No," the boy shrugged nonchalantly. "Not really, I just know things, that's all."  
   Death nearly started to laugh since he was sure he knew more than the boy ever would. Thousands and thousands of years roaming the Earth did that to people, it gave them plenty of time to figure stuff out, even if they didn't necessarily want to.  
   The loud bang of a chair toppling over to the wooden floor caught their attention. Death looked over his shoulder again to watch one of the three boys from earlier be yanked around by some burly, drunk motorcyclist. Blondie, as if knowing it was one of his friends involved in the nearing fight, chose to ignore the racket behind them. Death suddenly felt a small vibration from the pocket of his dark jeans and he fished out his cellphone. He glanced down at the caller ID, mumbled something under his breath, then finished off his beer in a few gulps. He hadn't even started working and already he had a headache forming at the back of his skull.  
   "Well, if you'll excuse me, I've got a job to go do."  
   Blondie looked up at Death as he stood. "Can I know your name first?"  
   "I'll let you do some research and take a guess. Here's a hint; I wear a black cloak."  
   Blondie's face went blank and he stilled.  
   "Don't worry, people forget my name all the time. Mistakes happen, right?" Before turning to leave, Death paused, "Oh and... how important is your friend Nicholas to you?"  
   "Nicholas?" the boy blinked in confusion. "He's a good friend, he watches over me and all. Why?"  
   Death gave a small grunt of thought then finally turned to leave, waving over his shoulder at the young boy. "Just asking. See you around, Michael."  
   As Death pushed his way through the crowd and left the bar, he slowly exhaled. A chilly, mid-fall breeze greeted the Grim Reaper when he stepped out into the night, threatening to ease the hood down from his head. But he payed it no mind. Nor did he pay any attention to the humans who brushed past him down the dirty sidewalk or to the near distant wail of sirens and car-horns. They were always right when they said the city never sleeps. The humans who came out during the night to play were his favorite for many different reasons. One being that they seemed oblivious to the six foot, three, hooded monster which sharply turned into the narrow and smelly alleyway.  
   Shadows pooled and mixed together right beside Death and slowly rose, forming a scythe which fitted perfectly in his large hand.  
   Time to collect.


	2. A Deal

   Even a month later, Michael could remember his meeting with the hooded man like it had just happened yesterday. The man was strange, very strange. He looked and acted like a human yet something about him seemed off, foreign, and unworldly. The thought caused a shiver to rake down his spine.

   As he stepped off the stage after his last act, he sighed, his body sore from dancing so much. At last his shift was over and he could go home. Michael was sick of that damn club, it always smelled like cigarettes and alcohol, and the clients were always way too touchy. The only reason he stayed there was because he needed enough money to get out of the city. The moment he had enough to pay for a plane ticket, he was packing up what little he had and running. He had to run if he wanted to survive. _They_ were finally catching up to him after three long, silent years.

   "Hey, Michael, you got a request for a private in room two," his boss, Ramiro, grunted.

   Michael frowned. "But my shift is over now."

   "Go. He said he'll pay a lot. Oh and don't fuck this up, boy - he looks important."

   With a small push from Ramiro, Michael made his way through the dimly lit club. As he passed the V.I.P lounge he recognized the usual rich clients with half-naked men and women draped around them, some of them consumed in debauchery. With one look a normal person would probably lose their lunch but Michael was, unfortunately, used to it so he continued on. Turning down a long hallway, he approached the door to room two, then hesitated. He took a deep breath and knocked gently.

   There was a pause before the wooden door was pulled open. A white wall blocked most of his vision. Slowly, Michael's gaze traveled up to meet melted chocolate brown eyes. Dirty blond hair sat in a perfect mess atop the stranger's head and looked as though the man had just ran his fingers carelessly through it. Trailing his eyes down along the man's square, stubble covered jawline, he found that the stranger's full lips were pulled into a crooked smirk. The mere sight of those lips sent heat flooding to his cheeks. The man stood still, allowing Michael to continue looking him over, and the young boy's blue eyes moved down to his attire. A simple white dress shirt was stretched across the man's broad chest and was tucked into dark jeans which clung to his narrow hips and long legs. Over all, the man was gorgeous.

   So gorgeous that Michael couldn't even find what to say.

   "Are you Michael?"

   Michael shivered and slowly nodded.

   Even his voice was gorgeous! It was deep, dark and strangely alluring.

   The stranger smirked then stood aside, motioning inside the dim room. It smelled of leather and spice. Or was that the stranger he was smelling? Michael bowed his head in embarrassment, slipping into the room and glancing around briefly. The silk red king-sized bed sat against the soft grey wall, its ten dark colored pillows neatly placed, all looking as though it wasn't even touched. Michael snuck a peek at the stranger as he shut the door and he wondered how long the man had been waiting for him. The tall man strolled his way over then took a seat on the edge of the bed, the bed creaking under his weight.

   This was it. He just had to give the man a small dance, grab the money and run. Simple.

   Sucking in a deep breath to steel his nerves, Michael crossed the room then boldly placed himself in the man's lap, straddling him. He placed his hands on the stranger's shoulders to keep himself steady before slowly lowering his hips down. The moment their hips met, Michael gasped. The man was so warm that it was almost concerning and the feeling of their hips pressing together sent electricity pulsing throughout his entire body. It felt so damn good. Ever so gently he began to rock his hips.

    The sensation was nothing like it usually was. With any other client he's had, he always felt revolted and ashamed straddling them, humiliated. But not this time. He felt warmth and hunger for some unknown reason. Michael tried licking his suddenly dry lips for some form of comfort but it was no use.

   Michael groaned softly as his head bowed, his lips finding the skin of the stranger's neck. With a strange sense of power, he dared his own lips to part, allowing his tongue to ease out. He kissed and licked at the man's neck as his hips continued to shamelessly grind. The man simply watched him, tilting his head to give Michael more freedom with a sly smile. Michael felt the impact of that smile in the pit of his stomach, need twisted inside of him, and he groaned again.

   He trailed his lips down the man's neck and chest as he slid to his knees between the stranger's legs. Michael reached to loosen the man's black leather belt. Glancing up, Michael noticed that his dark eyes were scorching, considering him intently. The sight made him pause. Was Michael really going to do what he so badly wanted to do? Was he going to lower himself even more to do something like that to a _stranger_? To someone who he would never see again once they left the room? The truth was, he didn't know. He felt maddening lust for the man in front of him yet, at the same time, he was hesitant. He had never done anything seriously intimate with a client no matter what they offered to pay - he had a bit of self-respect, after all.

   "You move fast, huh?" the man suddenly said.

   Michael bit his lip and nodded as heat flooded his cheeks. Attempting to swallow past his nervousness, he pulled the belt open. Just the thought of what was underneath the fabric sent a pulse throughout his body.

   The man chuckled, the low sound rumbling in his chest and he threaded his long fingers through Michael's hair, tugged his head back. "You sure about that? I'm considered... dangerous."

   "Please..."

   "Relax and listen to me," the man murmured, his voice deep and soft with tenderness. He placed his palm against Michael's forehead.

   Michael gasped for a reason he couldn't even determined as his body automatically relaxed on his knees. He felt so heavy, sluggish. Each limb seemed as though they weighed a ton and he couldn't find the energy to move. The man's voice was incredible. It was so expressive, so changeable. The power in his voice terrified Michael, actually. The stranger could probably manipulate hundreds of people with ease, frighten or calm them with just mere words. Michael felt his eyelids grow heavy as he looked up at the man.

   "Do you remember your friend Nicholas who died almost four weeks ago?"

   Michael nodded slowly, confused.

   "I killed him," the man admitted and time skidded to a halt. "And I want to kill you, Michael."

   Michael's eyes nearly popped out of his head. The man was a killer? He must be a proud killer if he so boldly admitted to homicide. Holy shit, Michael was in a room with a killer who killed one of his closest friends! He had planned to suck off a killer for money. And he wasn't even trying to get away now! He couldn't. He was going to be killed right there in that God-awful strip club he hated so much. And who would miss him? The half-dead plant in his kitchen window sill? That was about it, he had no one else, his close family was either dead or living somewhere else in the world.

   Despite the spike of panic and adrenaline rushing through his system, Michael still couldn't lift his arms and legs.

   The killer smiled knowingly down at him. "How about a deal, Michael? A deal where you stay with me, do what I say whenever I say and in exchange, I'll protect you. That is, until the two month mark."

   "What... What happens at the two month mark?" Truthfully, he didn't even want to know. He wanted to run far away and never look back.

   “I get to kill you.”

   “W-Why? Protect me from what?”

   “Because your soul is perfect, some people are going to want it – it’s intoxicating.”

   “No… Don’t. I don’t want to make a deal with you,” Michael whimpered, hot tears swelling in his eyes and trailing down his cheeks. He was screwed, dead, history. No longer a part of the world. “Don’t kill me…”

   With one hand still tangled in Michael’s hair, the man reached his free hand down and leaned forward some, the bed creaking again. The smell of leather and spice assaulted the boy’s senses again. The scent filled his mind and tried to play with his thoughts, and the heat radiating off of the killer made him feel safe somehow.

   _Snap out of it, idiot! This man killed your friend and wants to kill you now. Run, dammit!_

   “Shake my hand, Michael,” he demanded softly.

   Michael clenched his eyes shut, willing the man, the headache and the tears to disappear already.

   The grip on his hair tightened as the man growled, “ _Shake_ my hand.”

   "Fuck you," Michael managed shakily.

   A sharp tug on his head made him gasp. Pulling in a breath, Michael’s looked at the man’s larger one, a strangled cry of fear and dread rising from the back of his throat. The killer growled in warning and Michael's trembling hand reached forward without any further thought.

   The killer snatched up his hand. “You have two months, princess.”

   Standing to his towering height, the man released Michael to dig around in his pocket. He fished out a folded piece of paper then dropped it into Michael’s lap. The young boy numbly watched the note fall next to his knee as the man stepped around him and left without another word.

    Should he open the note after what just happened? What should he even be feeling right now? Probably fear. Yet he only felt cold, a numbness covered his whole body. Maybe he should tell someone about this? He could go to the police, but then he would be turning himself in too, and he wasn’t dumb enough to do that. He couldn’t run away yet, he still had some loose ends to tie up around the city to make sure they didn’t find him sooner rather than later.

   He chewed absentmindedly on his bottom lip as he stared down at the paper left by the killer.

   Finally curiosity won over and he picked up the small note.

 


End file.
